


The Secret Compliment

by MalTease



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalTease/pseuds/MalTease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark surprises everyone with a little act of bravery at school, but perhaps, he surprises Katniss Everdeen the most. Pre-Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Compliment

This is my first ever HG story and is my first submission to the Everlark Week. My little take on one particular school day, where thirteen year old Peeta Mellark shows the makings of what he was yet to become. Please give it a chance :). 

Thea Gardner sits at the table next to me in class, at the back, in the usual place left for us Seam kids. Her dark, stringy hair greasy and tangled over her pale, gaunt face which, shell shocked and grief stricken, makes her look much older than her – _our_ – thirteen years of age. Mitchell Gardner, this year's male tribute from District 12, her brother, had made it to nineth place, a record for our district, just low enough in the final positioning to keep the cameras and interviews away from us, to let us witness his death in our special kind of reserved, forgotten, District 12 misery. Thea's brother has been dead for two weeks, and his sister grieves, lost without the brother who used to patiently wait for her outside school everyday, who even though slight in built and looking younger than his eighteen years due to malnutrition, had been the rock for his sister that elder siblings in our district are expected to be.

Classes began again today after summer recess, and as every year, the _futility_ of it all hits me in full force. Useless, useless, useless. Mitch Gardner, Cesca Thorne and all the others before them died their expected senseless deaths in the arena, and knowing their letters, algebra or stupid _home economics_ did nothing to keep them alive. Today's history lesson deals with "Panem's Creators", and our teacher, Miss Sanders, seems to be finding it very difficult to muster the enthusiasm needed to dwell on the great deeds of Capitol Men whose legacy snatched two of us every year to die, _and to make a point_. Miss Sanders is all Town, with light skin, light hair and pale blue eyes, but she had lost a cousin a while back, proving that her family, owner of the general store in town, was not immune to the Reapings. No family really is, and even though it is harder for us Seam kids to beat those odds, it is not unheard of for District 12 to send off for slaughter some relatively delicate blonde child. I sometimes think that the Reapings might be rigged, but I don't know if anyone shares my suspicions. Suspicions about Capital procedures are not something you share. You just keep that thought to yourself, piled up with the many other independent, _useless_ , thoughts that eventually dwindle as you grow older.

I'm perfectly content just staring out of the window, willing the day to end before I can run off to the woods and hunt my thoughts away, until Miss Sanders just seems to give up on giving her lesson, and tells us to write a few lines about _"someone we admire"_ in the next five minutes, to then read it out in class. I roll my eyes in frustration, and the few kids in my class that are actually semi-alert, groan. No one wants to do anything rather than avoid having to look at Thea, who still stares at nothing, her light grey eyes unfocused. I don't admire anyone, I don't allow myself to like anyone, and all my store of possible love is pooled towards my sister Prim. Even my relationship with my hunting partner, _my friend?_ Gale is guarded at best. I used to love my parents, until my Father died in the mines, and my Mother died in her mind. Admiring anyone is at this point of my life, inconceivable. I just stare at my dirty pile of used paper, and stubbornly refuse to write. From the corner of my eye I see a movement of a blonde head, and before I can stop myself, I catch the eye of Peeta Mellark before he rapidly looks down and starts writing rapidly. Bloody Peeta Mellark, of course he writes. Of course he obeys. That's what he does. He obeys rules and creates no disruptions. He makes people smile and throws bread at starving girls. He makes starving girls live and hope, and makes them feel guilty and uncomfortable and unable to look at him in the eye. Bloody _bloody_ Mellark.

The five minutes are up, and my paper is empty. Miss Sanders calls out my classmates one by one, and they all stand up, reading half hearted lines in half hearted tones about made up admiration for the historical figures that they could come up with. Everyone keeps it safe. The groans of Mitch Gardner as he lay dying in the arena after being knifed by that Career from District 1 still reverberate in our minds. Cesca didn't even have time to scream. Her throat was slit a few steps away from the platform by that same monster. The fact that he was hacked to death by that girl from District 4 who ended up winning was of no consolation.

"Peeta, would you like to come up and read your lines?"

My head snaps up automatically. _Look down Everdeen!_ I scream to myself, but somehow, I cannot, I don't want to. Peeta Mellark stands up without a word, of course. He filled out in these few weeks since I've seen him; even though he's in that awkward phase between childhood and adolescence, his worn T shirt (which screams _two older brothers_!) is not hanging quite so loosely around his shoulders. I scowl at the back of his head and wonder what the hell is wrong with his hair. His curls, like Prim's straight hair, are light and blonde, but his hair shines in a way which my sister's doesn't, no matter how carefully I brush it and braid it for her. No hair should shine like this, it looks ridiculous. Like a stupid yellow cloud. _Bloody Mellark._

Peeta stands in front of the classroom, his feet twisting nervously at a slightly awkward angle, his hands shaking slightly. He clears his throat and swallows deeply. _Get on with it!_ I think, surprised at the surge of anger in me. I want him to sit down, away from my sight, so that my stomach can stop feeling like lead, and so that my fingers can unclench. _All it would have taken was a thank you Katniss, then you would have been able to let go of this boy._ However, I never managed that thank you, and I seem to be now plagued to feel guilty and uncomfortable in front of the baker's son for the rest of my life.

Peeta hazards a tiny look in my direction, sees my scowl and looks away. My heart sinks.

"The person I admire the most is Mitchell Gardner," he begins in a low voice. There is a gasp in class, uttered by Town and Seam in rare synchronicity. Grey and blue eyes stare at him in disbelief, both sets mirroring each other in their inability to read this strange boy. You don't mention the Games. You don't mention anyone in the Games. They die, life goes on, end of story. Apparently not for the Baker's son. My scowl drops as I stare at him. I don't know what to make of this boy. I wish I wasn't placed in the situation of trying to make something out of him so often though.

Peeta seems strangely heartened by the class reaction and continues. "I admire Mitchell Gardner for walking tall on stage when he was reaped. I admire the fact that for two weeks before the games he trained hard, because it showed. He gave it his all, for his family and for his district. I admire him for not killing that little girl from 3, even if he could have done it, and who knows what might have happened? I admire Mitch for whispering his family's names before he died, for allowing his last thoughts to be of love. For remaining himself until the end." He stopped and swallowed. "Thank you," he concluded, and slowly walked back to his seat, before looking at Mitch's sister, and giving her a small, sad smile.

Thea Gardner convulses in sobs next to me, breaking out of her half dead state, and the rest of us, including Miss Sanders, stare at him in absolute confusion. Our teacher stands up nervously, looking around as if wondering whether Peeta's unexpected ( _rebellious?_ ) words could have been heard by some Peacekeeper, stealthily listening to our lesson. She seems shaken, but looks at her student with a certain softness, admiration perhaps, that she has never bestowed upon anyone else. Bloody Mellark, what is with him?

Before I know it, I stand up suddenly. Thea sobs silently next to me, and my classmates eyes turn to me. This lesson has turned out to be unexpectedly interesting for them. Miss Sanders looks at me questioningly. "Do you have anything to read, Katniss?" she asks in surprise.

I nod slightly, unsure of what I'm doing, of why I'm suddenly standing in front of class with an empty sheet of paper clutched in my hand. Then I see Peeta's blonde head, looking down resolutely, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and perhaps shame, and start talking, pretending to look at my paper.

"The person I admire the most is that person that is different from the rest. The person who says what he thinks is right, and who is not afraid to have thoughts that are forbidden. I admire the person who can stand up and be brave. I admire he who remains kind, and steady and strong...no matter what." My voice falters in the last three words, because Peeta Mellark has looked up, and the sun just happens to shine over his bright locks. His ridiculous, shiny locks which...sort of suit him. I duck my head and make my way to my chair.

He looks at me for a moment, his bright blue eyes lighting up. _A secret compliment¸ just for you,_ I glower back.

Bloody Peeta Mellark, and even bloodier is his shiny hair.


End file.
